


Gimme Shelter

by MichiganBlackhawk



Series: Trio AU [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichiganBlackhawk/pseuds/MichiganBlackhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trio take off for parts unknown to clear their heads. Jealousy leads to some unpleasant consequences for Jayme. This is an original story, not based on an episode.</p><p> </p><p>Revised version updated 5/23/2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Do neromancers take vacations?”

The black Impala cruised down the open road, heading nowhere in particular. Since their run-in with Meg in Chicago and the meetup with Dad, even Sam had to admit that they needed a few days off. They’d headed southwest, to warmer territory and hopefully clearer heads.

Jayme looked up from her computer, tilting her sunglasses back. Apparently the jostling of the car, the wind, and the sun didn’t present any interruption to her reading or reporting or whatever she was doing. “Do we what?”

“Take vacations. Ever just go off and relax for a while?”

“Sure. Most sentient species do.”

“Where do you go?” he asked, turning sideways. “Your people.”

Dean glanced in the mirror, waiting for her answer.

She smiled, her gaze moving off into a distance neither of them could imagine. “My family has a house on a planet called Solanis. It’s a few light years from Katarin.”

“Lemme guess. Nice little cabin out in the woods. Doors eight feet high,” Dean cracked.

“Not quite. It’s hard to describe. It’s like . . . stone blocks built into a cliff face. Glass doors, wide verandahs, stone floors, all of it looking out on a deep tropical crevasse with a river below. Temperate climate, moderate humidity, like Florida in the early spring.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said. “When are we going?”

“Dean, it’s another _planet_ ,” Sam said.

“So?”

“So?” Sam said, looking out at the road as if it could explain his brother. As usual, the road was dirt, gravel, and asphalt. Nothing that would be able to explain the way Dean Winchester’s mind worked.

“We could, you know,” Jayme said.

Sam’s head snapped back around. “Could _what_?”

“In theory, I could take both of you to Solanis with me. The gravity is only .001 times higher than here and the atmosphere is comparable, of course you two would have to have all your shots and flea baths first . . . ”

Dean laughed. “You’re shitting me! Come on, man, a joke’s a joke!”

“Yeah, you got me,” she said. “I was just messing with you.” She pulled her glasses back down. “You wouldn’t need flea baths.”

“Jayme, are you seriously saying you could take us off this planet. Like right now?” Sam asked.

“Not right this second, no. But it’s not impossible. Many humans have experienced extraterrestrial travel.”

Dean looked over at Sam, his eyes huge. “This must be our month for friggin’ revelations— _who_?”

“Leonardo da Vinci,” she said.

“ _What_?”

She nodded, fighting a grin. “Never actually set foot on Katarin, but he did see it from orbit.”

“Wait a minute, you guys took the Da Vinci Code guy out in _space_? And he didn’t totally flip his wig or whatever it is they wore back then?”

“He had a remarkably agile mind for what we must have considered a completely primitive civilization. Kept his sanity and never told anyone that he had walked the heavens.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Sam asked. “I mean, what if someone tries to tell the world? What if they can’t handle it?”

“Trust me, we thought of all that. We have had six thousand years to get to know humans pretty well. We make sure anyone who finds out about us can pyschologically handle it, and besides—lots of humans have tried to tell the world about us.”

“Really?”

“Sure! You read about them in the pages of _Weekly World News_ and the _National Enquirer_ all the time.”

“Think about it, Sammy. It’s like if someone raves about ghosts or vampires. No one takes them seriously.”

“Except us,” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah, well, we also know about aliens too.” Dean suddenly frowned. “Jayme? Are there any other aliens on this planet besides neromancers?”

“Right now, no.” She was quiet for a minute. “We, um, tend to chase other species away. Some of them have no interest in peaceful observation.”

“And the others?” Sam asked.

“We don’t exactly have a lot of friends out there. Not many enemies, either; we keep to ourselves.”

“Knew there was a reason I liked you,” Dean said. “Which way, north or south?”

“South,” Jayme said. “It’s still too damn cold.”

 

 

After a half day of driving through flat pastures on endless straight two-lane highways, through the northern edge of Little Sahara State Park and due west on highway 64, they finally drifted into Laverne, Oklahoma.

“Man, I have been in some little towns but this place,” Dean said. “Wonder where Shirley is.”

“Dude, over there!” Jayme said, leaning over his shoulder to point.

Sam squinted. “‘The Brandin’ Iron’?”

“We are in cattle country,” she said. “Come on, pull over. I need a drink or some food or something.”

They pulled into the parking lot of the bar with Old West touches and several Harleys parked out front. No one batted an eye at the Impala or Dean as he got out, giving the place a long look as Jayme followed, the pair looking more like bikers than drifters.

“You know, Sam, you really need a leather jacket too,” she said.

Sam just shook his head. “No thanks. Not really my style.”

“In order for something to not be your style, Sam, you have to _have_ one first,” Dean said. “Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam replied.

“So what the hell is that whole ‘bitch/jerk’ thing about?” Jayme asked, following them inside. It was dark, with scattered pools of light from several neon signs and the hooded lights over the pool tables across the room. 

“C’mon. You never called your sister names?” Dean said, letting his eyes flit over the few scattered patrons. It was early evening, just before the dinner rush, so there were plenty of tables to choose from. He followed Sam and Jayme around to a corner table, scoping out the bar on the way.

“Not unless I wanted to get my ass kicked,” she said, plopping down in one of the solid old-fashioned chairs with the rounded arms and thick slats. “My sister was not the kind of person you could tease. But you two snark and gripe at each other like an old married couple. So the whole ‘bitch’ and ‘jerk’ thing just sort of happened, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, grabbing a menu.

“You mean you never gave your sister a hard time?” Dean said, catching the bartender’s eye and gesturing for a round.

“I did, but not for fun. It wasn’t friendly teasing, believe me.” She was smiling, but it wasn’t a happy smile.

“Well, I promise that me and Sam will only ever tease you in fun,” Dean said, leaning back as a waitress arrived with a tray of beers. “Thank you darlin’,” he said. “Keep them coming.”

“Why are you in such a good mood?” Sam asked.

“Hey, I got my brother and my friend in a bar, we got drinks, food—what else could you ask for?” He held up his bottle. “Don’t answer that.”

Jayme and Dean ordered steak, two pairs of green eyes glowing at the prospect of red meat. Sam just shook his head, ordered a salad and chicken and hoping the place didn’t dip the lettuce in bacon grease first. It wasn’t the same as college, but the edges were blurred just enough for him to pretend. Jayme made it easier, able to discuss books and movies with equal facility, bouncing between the two with ease. In a way Sam envied her having such a long life with plenty of years to do all the things you wanted.

When the food was gone the trio wandered over to the pool tables, Jayme running her fingers over the red felt. “Fancy a game, Dean?” she asked.

“You don’t wanna play me, Jayme.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’ll beat your ass.”

Jayme met his lazy grin with one of her own. “You sound so sure.”

“All right, rack ‘em uh—” The p vanished as Dean’s chin followed the curve of a passing girl’s rear in a pair of shorts-in-name-only. “Hold that thought.” He turned, diving after the owner like a shark moving back into dark water.

“Wow, only took three seconds that time.”

Sam picked up a stick. “I think I can take you.”

Jayme smiled, taking off her jacket. “Okay, college boy. Let’s see what kind of studying you were really doing, huh?”

Sam racked and broke; he hadn’t spent a lot of time at college goofing around, but every once in a while he and a couple guys would shoot some pool, so he’d been able to hone the skills Dean had taught him when they were kids. It appealed to the calculating part of his mind, the part that loved to analyze and strategize, as well as the physical pleasure of leaning down, getting the ball in your sights, sinking it with the thud of finality.

As they played, circling the table in point and counterpoint as they took in the lay of the land, he could see the same look in Jayme’s eyes, the same thoughts running through her head. But her focus wasn’t absolute.

“There he goes _again_. And it’s not even the same girl he was following before.”

Sam looked up from the bank shot he was planning. The fourteen was right in his sights. “What?” He followed Jayme’s gaze to the bar, where Dean was doing what he did second best behind hunting monsters. “You know, you are going to have to decide.” He took his shot, dropping the fourteen into the corner pocket, then missing the ten, putting the cue ball in the corner.

“Decide what?”

Sam straightened, dropping his stick down vertical. “Either tell Dean you like him, or stop doing this jealous girlfriend thing.”

“What jealous thing?”

Sam aimed the look he’d perfected with Dean at Jayme. “You know, ever since Cassie you have snapped and snarled any time Dean flirts with a girl. Now, you keep saying you don’t like him like that, but you—”

“Sam, I get it. Look, it can never happen, so why even talk about it.” She leaned over, studying the table. “You left me with crap, you know that.”

“That is part of the game, you know.”

Jayme hopped up on the edge, propping up one heel on the side of the table as she leaned over, sliding the stick behind her back.

Dean wandered over to the table, watching her contort. “Pool’s not a contact sport, you know.”

“Shows how much you know,” she said, knocking the seventeen in. “I was playing pool long before you were born.”

Sam watched them; Jayme was looking everywhere but at Dean, and Dean was watching her move, sliding down from the table to plan her next shot. It was a different look than he gave the random girls he flirted with. The teasing, shallow, hey-check-me-out expression was absent. It wasn’t familiar, wasn’t something Sam was used to seeing. It was new.

And the thought was insane. Jayme wasn’t human. She didn’t belong on Earth, she wouldn’t be here forever, and she would outlive Dean and Sam by centuries. It was, as she’d even admitted, impossible.

“Listen, Sam, the bar maid over there, she’s got this friend, so maybe if you wanna get rid of your monk’s habit for one night . . . ”

There was a loud snap as Jayme’s stick broke.

“Whoa, you okay?” Dean said, leaning back as she tossed the broken halves on the table. “What?”

“You know, for a hunter you really have no semblance of a clue, you know that?” she snapped, poking him in the chest as she walked by.

“What the hell? Hey, where you going?”

“I need some air!” she shouted, stomping down the couple stairs and out the door.

Dean looked at Sam. “What did I do?”


	2. Chapter 2

“ _Sonnha Jhamera nheru nhashtahra. Dennhu mhasteya. . . idiota!_ ” Jayme stopped. “Okay, Katarinian to Latin. Girl, you’re slipping.” She turned, making sure no one had overheard her extraterrestrial ranting. The lot was empty; the closest people were a couple on the far diagonal side kissing behind the tailgate of a dark blue Durango. She turned her back on them, taking a few deep breaths to bring herself back to center. “All right, focus. This is stupid. He’s not yours, he’s not interested, and you have to keep the claws sheathed. You are acting like a jealous _wangala_ and it’s getting out of control. Just relax before you freak the poor boy out.”

She leaned back on the door of a black pickup for a moment, images passing by; a teenage boy with dark hair and pimples standing nervously outside his white 1957 Pontiac Star Chief, waiting for the girl he knew as Jane to take her to the prom, the dozens of nameless, faceless males over the years who had flirted with the in-girl with the dark red hair and fabulous green eyes, a tall bass player in a struggling band who found worldwide fame and eventually the arms of someone who was not human.

“And you saw how that ended,” she reminded herself. “So, not going down that road with this one.” Smoothing her hair back, she gathered her composure and headed back inside, pulling the door open. She stepped forward, finding not air that yielded to her passage but a body that did not; she bounced off a firm chest, her boot heels skidding on the step and nearly sending her down, her grip on the door managing to keep her upright but only just.

“God dangit, I’m sorry!” The words came out in a flat Midwestern American accent but for a moment Jayme heard the distinct sound of Chiswick England as she looked into the face of her barricade. His dark bangs splayed over gray-green eyes and she waited for a fanged grin. As she looked, the resemblance faded a little when he showed straight, all-American teeth. The red t-shirt and black non-leather jacket finished the job. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. No damage, see?” she said, doing a little jig.

“Well, good, because as hard as you hit you should have been on your butt right now,” he said. “Can I buy you an ‘I’m sorry’ drink, maybe?”

Jayme opened her mouth to turn him down, then looked past his shoulder to the pool table, where Dean and Sam were talking. Thanks to the bar noise and music she couldn’t hear them, but it was not hard to imagine the subject of their conversation. “Actually, sure. That sounds great.”

“Awesome. Oh, my name’s Rick, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Jayme.”

 

 

“Hey, who’s that?” Dean said.

Sam followed his gaze. “It’s Jayme with a guy, Dean.”

“So who is he?”

“How the hell should I know? Probably someone she struck up a conversation with.”

“I don’t like him. He looks like a dick.”

Sam almost laughed, giving Dean a look he hoped was as incredulous as he felt. “Now you’re the one who sounds jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m just being smart. The more people she talks to the more risk of someone finding out about her.”

Sam snorted. “Dean, I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention but she’s been here since the late fifties. I think the twenty years of experience she had before you were even born makes a difference, don’t you? Besides, he just looks like a regular guy.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to,” Sam said. “She’s allowed to talk to anyone she wants.”

 

 

Jayme noticed Dean looking in their direction as Rick brought over two beers. “You in town long?” he asked, sitting across from her, the round table between them small enough to make it intimate. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Just passing through. My friends and I are taking a little break from work,” she said.

“Who’s your friends?” he asked.

Jayme gestured with her glass. “The two guys over there by the pool table.”

Rick glanced over his shoulder. “Either of them your boyfriend?”

Jayme laughed. “Yeah, right. We’re not . . . compatible. Just friends and coworkers. That’s all we’ll ever be.”

“Well in that case, maybe you’d let me take you out to dinner before you leave town? That is, if you’re staying here for a day or two.”

Jayme considered it. He did look an awful lot like John, especially in profile, and didn’t put out any creeper vibes that she could detect—not that she had to worry about those things anyway. “We’ll see. After all, I hardly even know you.”

He just smiled. “Well, we got some time right now to fix that, don’t we? Like first off why you keep starin’ at me like that.”

“You remind me of someone I used to know.”

“And who’s that?” he asked, leaning back. “Tom Cruise?”

“You’re too tall to be Tom Cruise and you don’t look dickish enough to be Christian Bale. Actually, you remind me a lot of John Entwistle.” At the standard “John who?” look that passed over his face, she added, “He was the bass player for The Who.”

“Really?” he said. “Never heard of him.”

“Not surprised. The others always got all the damn attention. John didn’t stand out, except where bass playing was concerned.”

“You know him?”

“I did.” She took another long drink. Earth alcohol just wasn’t strong enough. “He died in ’02.”

“Wait a minute. Weren’t the Who around back in the sixties and seventies? You don’t look old enough to know anyone from back then.”

“I’m older than I look,” she said. “But I was old enough back in the late nineties and that’s when I met him.” The lie slid off her tongue with ease.

“Sounds like you miss him. Did you know him well?”

“Well enough. He was a good guy. Anyway, when I bumped into you for just a moment . . . ”

“You thought I was him. Well, I’m flattered. No one’s ever compared me to anyone famous before.”

“Clearly you’ve never run into anyone with my discerning eye.”

Conversation came easily. For the first time Ahma’s death Jayme felt a little of the Earth-normal return; Rick shared not just a few of John’s looks, but some of his personality as well, with a dry, deadpan sense of humor and a gentle, calm manner. When Dean and Sam approached it felt like only a few minutes had passed but a glance at the clock showed it had been over an hour.

“Ready to go?” Dean asked.

“I guess I’d better,” Jayme said, getting up. “Thanks for the beer and the chat, Rick.”

“Well, listen,” he said, rising as well. “Can I call you?”

Jayme glanced at Dean, then back at Rick. “Sure. We’ll probably be in town for a day at least. Right, Dean?”

His gaze was frosty. “I suppose so, maybe.”

Rick pulled out his phone. “Okay. So lemme get your number and maybe we can get together before you go.”

Jayme pulled hers out, leaning over. “Even trade. How ‘bout that?”

He smiled, a grin with enough fang to bring the resemblance full circle. “Sounds just fine.”

 

 

The Country Inn was several blocks away, a step up from their usual motel rooms. The trio were silent as they checked in and carried their things into the room, which lacked the usual strange décor but was a hell of a lot cleaner. Dean waited until they were in and the door was closed.

“So what was that back there?”

“That?” Jayme said. “That was a conversation, Dean. I thought you two were going to go make out with the bartender and her friend.”

“We were, before you started talking to the walking hard-on!”

“Oh, I’m sure my little chat totally stopped you!” she snapped, the indignant look melting into anger. “You know, you’re free to flirt with everything with two legs and a nice pair of tits but let _me_ strike up a conversation with a nice guy and I’ve got a Doberman snapping at me!”

“Dean, she’s right. There wasn’t anything suspicious about him,” Sam said. “If you get to pick up every girl who pays attention to you, why shouldn’t she get to be with whoever she wants?”

“It’s not about that, Sam, and you know it!” Dean took a breath, trying to bring his temper down. “Jayme, hunters . . . don’t get to have normal lives, okay? We don’t get to have relationships because it just puts people in danger.”

“So what’s your excuse? You’re not putting a lot of bimbos in danger with what you do, huh?”

“You’re not human!” Dean said. “What makes you think you can just . . . hook up with the first guy who notices you?”

Jayme took a step back as if she’d been slapped. From the look in her eyes Sam braced himself for an attack that never came. “Wow. I mean, _wow_.” She shook her head, a disbelieving smile on her face. “I was wrong—you’re not a cocky son of a bitch, you are an _asshole_.”

Dean just stood there, staring. Sam couldn’t tell if he were sorry, thinking, or getting ready to explode right back at her. At the moment anything other than an abject apology (which he knew Dean would never give that quickly) would not make matters any better.

Jayme snatched her jacket. “I told The Who the truth about me in 1969, before you were born. John and I first made love in 1978 when he and his wife were split up. Me not being human never made one damn bit of difference to him. Apparently you aren’t half the man he was, Dean.” She opened the door, slamming it behind her.

“Nice going, Dean. Real nice.”

 

 

Laverne, in addition to being half a sitcom, was also clearly one of those towns that rolled up the sidewalks as soon as the sun went down. Jayme walked quickly past dark houses and stores, trying to put as much distance between her and the inn as possible. It didn’t make any sense for Dean’s statement of the obvious to have gotten under her skin so badly, and she certainly meant it when she’d called him on it, but the further she walked, the more she had to consider the possibility that he was right, that the idea that she was part of humanity was just as much an illusion as her previous identities.

It hadn’t mattered to John, but then John had been an unusual man. But the day and the man were long gone, and the thought was little comfort on a deserted Oklahoma streetcorner. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone. “They always warn women not to put too much trust in guys they just met. But, as I keep getting reminded, I’m not human, so clearly I don’t have to worry.” She brought up Rick’s number and touched the green phone on the keypad. “Rick? Hi, this is Jayme, the girl you met earlier? Yeah, listen . . . I know this is little strange, but I’m kind of needing a place to crash tonight. You wouldn’t happen to know if there’s a YWCA around, would you?”

 

 

“Dean.” Sam made a grab for the remote as Dean cranked the volume up. “Dean!”

“What, Sam?” he snapped.

“Are you just gonna let her leave?”

Dean shrugged. “She’ll be back. She just needs a minute. Hey, c’mon, if I ran after you every time you got bitchy I’d have six marathons under my belt. She’ll cool down and come back, okay?”

“How do you know?”

“Her stuff’s still here. I don’t think a couple shirts and jeans matter to Miss My Bank Account is a Friggin’ Phone Number, but I’m guessing she’d get in real trouble if she just left her medical kit and that computer thingy of hers behind.” He flipped the channel. “She’ll be back.”

“And you’ll apologize.”

Dean looked at Sam as if trying to determine the size of his brother’s degenerative brain tumor. “For what?”

Sam scoffed. “For insulting her? Being a friggin’ hypocrite?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Dean, you really are an idiot.” He looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “Jayme likes you. Haven’t you noticed that ever since Cassie she gets real upset every time you flirt with a girl? Of course, that was before you told her that she’s not allowed to do the same thing you do all the time and acted like she doesn’t have any feelings because she’s not human.”

“Of course she has feelings, Sam. Don’t be stupid—which you are if you think she likes me.” He stared at the TV, feigning interest in a sitcom he’d never seen and couldn’t care less about. “You really think she does?”

Sam nodded. “I know she does. And I think you like her back.”

“Now I know you’re imagining things.”

“Then why did you get so mad when she was talking to Rick, huh?”

“Easy. Guy was a dick.”

Sam’s hand tightened on the bedspread he was sitting on. He was both thankful for and regretted that it wasn’t something blunt he could throw at Dean. “Why? Because he bought her a beer and was talking to her?”

“No. Because he was looking at her like he wanted to eat her.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rick arrived in an old Camaro. Jayme could hear Dean in her head griping about the condition of the body before it even reached the curb, but it was running and right now that was all that mattered. The fact that Dean’s voice so easily sprang to mind made her decision to get into the car even more firm.

There wasn’t a YWCA nearby, clear from the moment he’d said “Huh?” From there it had been a squaredance of hems and haws and c’mons and ‘well see’s that reminded Jayme that the fifties were alive and well in some places still. Finally her “Look, I don’t bite and I don’t shed, and if you have a couch or a recliner or a little floor space that’s all I need” was enough to seal the deal. The scene was like something out of a Public Service Film, Section 1A: What Not To Do When Alone On The Street, a lone female of slight stature standing on the edge of a dark road, getting into a car driven by a man she barely knew.

“Man, I can’t believe they just tossed you out,” Rick said.

“They didn’t. I left. Just needed some space, you know?”

“You didn’t have your own room?”

“Our employers are cheapasses. And right now I don’t want to be anywhere near them.”

Rick nodded, putting on his turn signal as he merged onto 149 West. “Well, you’re welcome to crash at my place for the night. It’s not much—I’m kind of drifting around myself. But I’ll make sure there’s enough room for you, Jayme.”

“Thanks. This whole night has just . . . not turned out like I expected.”

“For me either.”

They moved past the town limits into an even heavier darkness, the Camaro’s headlights providing the only illumination. He pulled into the dirt driveway of a small house that looked barely on the side of habitable.

“Well, you did say it wasn’t much,” Jayme said, getting out.

“Yeah,” he said, looking down. “Sorry about that. Listen, if you want me to take you back to town—”

“It’s perfect,” she said. “I don’t need much.”

He looked up, clearly relieved. “Well, okay.” He leaned on the car, twirling his keys. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You make a habit of calling up guys you just met, getting in their cars, going home with them? Isn’t that a little risky?”

“I can take care of myself,” she said. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he headed for the door. “Well, you gotta admire a strong woman.” He unlocked the door, pushing it open. “Ladies first,” he said. “Go on in and I’m just gonna reach around the jamb here and turn the light on.”

The anger and accompanying haze had faded enough by that point that instinct and sense had returned. She stepped over the threshhold, taking a few more steps even after it was clear that things were not right. The house was too dark even for her enhanced vision to see, but the sound of her steps was too loud and resonant for her to be in a room that had any furnishings or appliances. Instead of linoleum or carpet or wood beneath her, the floor was uneven and warped.

Abandoned house.

“Slumming it, are we?” she asked, not turning around. She could hear him behind her and waited. Whether he was a garden-variety rapist or a psychopathic killer, this human had about five seconds before he was going to be terminally sorry.

“You could say that,” he said, his voice close.

Too close.

Despite how effortless it might have looked to Sam and Dean, changing forms was not a simple matter. Finding and learning to access the bundle of nerves at the base of the spine that controlled the stable cellular mutation usually took until puberty, and even though the change itself took only a few seconds, making it happen took focus and concentration, like flexing a muscle over the entire body.

She felt teeth sink into her neck, sharp, needle-like teeth that punctured her flesh with ease. After a sharp pain a wave of numbness washed over her, stopping her transformation before she had a chance to feel the warmth spreading up her spine. 

Before consciousness fled she heard Rick’s voice. “My, you _are_ tasty . . . ”

 

 

Sam awoke from a dream of being chased by a sweet little old lady with a Ginsu knife to an obnoxious infomercial on the television—which naturally was a sweet little old lady selling steak knives—and sunlight streaming through the half-open curtains.

He turned, seeing only one lump on the other bed. Sitting up revealed an empty floor. Jayme hadn’t returned. “Dean? Dean, wake up.”

“What the hell for,” Dean mumbled.

“Jayme didn’t come back last night.” Sam reached over, snagging Dean’s phone, then getting up to get his own. “Did she call?”

“Nope,” Dean said, rolling over.

Sam checked both phones—no one had called. He opened his, dialing Jayme’s number. It went to voicemail. “Jayme, it’s Sam. Listen, I know things were messed up last night but I just wanted to see where you are, if you’re okay. Call me as soon as you get this, please?” He pushed the red button under his thumb. “Maybe we should go looking for her. You don’t think she—hey Dean, you didn’t happen to see that guy Rick’s number, did you?”

“No. Why the hell would I want that?”

“Because she might have called him last night! Maybe she stayed with him!”

Dean sat up, rubbing his eyes. “She’s not that stupid, Sam.”

“What do you mean?”

“Calling up some dude she just met? She’s way smarter than that.”

“Dean, I’m not sure if you remember, but Jayme is not some helpless little girl.”

“Then why are you all in a rush to go rescue her?”

“I’m not! I just want to make sure she’s okay. Don’t you?”

Dean’s hesitation before answering in the affirmative was all the answer Sam needed.

 

 

It was neither a school bell nor an alarm bell, but more like Alan Sues’ “tinkle” on overdrive, a constant high-pitched whine that chased her to consciousness. She fought the urge to jerk, letting the feeling come back slowly. She was seated, her hands were bound. Even worse, there was something tied around her neck, keeping her head pulled to the side. The curving pressure against her back hinted at a pole or column to which she’d been bound. 

“Don’t worry. It fades.” She struggled to pull her eyes open, her vision blurred and hazy but clear enough to reveal Rick, straddling a chair backwards a few feet away. There was a sleepy, sated look on his face. “You were the best surprise I could have had in this shithole of a town. And the best part is you walked right to me.”

“Try not to look so happy about it.”

“I can’t help it, babe. You are _delicious_. I am gonna savor you.” He licked his lips. “I have to ask, though. What are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not human. Or if you are, you are so completely different than any human I’ve ever eaten.”

“Blame it on the soy sauce. I eat it on everything.”

“See, that’s one of the things I like about you. You’re spunky. Unafraid. Keep your blood up. You taste better when you do.”

“So what are you, then? Vampire?”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “And how would you know about things like that?”

“I watch a lot of TV. And you did bite me on the neck.”

“Touché. I, my dear little dinner, am a vetala. At least that’s what our prey calls us. So, what are you?”

“Untie me and I’ll show you. I’m sure I can give you a lot more than just something to snack on,” she said, mustering her strength into her most seductive purr.

Rick only laughed. “Oh, very good! And if I were interested in any of that I’m sure I’d jump at the chance!” He got up, moving closer. “But after one taste of you I’m afraid that I won’t be able to think of anything else.” He leaned down to her neck, where a stream of blood had trickled past her collarbone and stained the front of her shirt. She held still as he sniffed along the trail as if her neck were a thick steak. His tongue licked up the blood and she pinched her eyes shut, wishing Sam and Dean—asshole or no—were there.

 

 

When Sam came out of the bathroom he found Dean on the phone. He paused, standing by the door and listening to his brother’s side of the conversation.

“Yeah. Listen, I was wondering if you noticed the girl I was with? Yeah, her. Do you remember the guy she was talking with? Oh, about six foot, black hair, dark jacket, red shirt? Yeah, that’s the one. Do you know who he is? Is he like a local or—oh, you’ve never seen him before? So he’s not a—okay. No, nothing bad, just wondering. You know, maybe, but I don’t know if we’ll be staying. Yeah, kinda. Listen, thanks Jenny. If I think of anything else can I call you? Awesome.” Dean closed his phone. “Rick’s not a local, and in a town this small it means he hasn’t been here long if she’s never seen him before.”

“So you’re actually interested in finding Jayme, I take it?”

“Of course I am. We can’t get outta here before we do.”

Sam shrugged. “Just from the way you were acting last night and this morning I didn’t know if you even cared any more.”

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You let her walk out the door, you stared at that stupid television all night, and fell asleep without even calling to see if she was coming back! This morning I could barely get you to wake up even after I told you she was out all night. Sorry if that makes it look like you don’t care.”

“Sam, she’s a big girl. She doesn’t need us to be watching her every second.”

“I know, but it’s not like her to just take off like this.”

Dean looked up at his brother. “And how do you know? Sam, she’s been with us for what, a month? That’s like a blip to her. She might have decided to hang it up.”

“Dean, are you even listening to yourself right now?”

“Look, I’m just saying we don’t know her that well. She’s been alive a hell of a lot longer than we have, and she’s been here since Dad was a kid. She’s not some naïve chick, okay?”

“That’s not the point, Dean.”

“Then what is it, Sam? Enlighten me!”

Sam clenched his fists and pulled his temper back. “Look. Jayme’s gone AWOL and we find out that Mr. Good Ol’ Boy isn’t a local and no one knows who he is. Doesn’t that seem beyond coincidence?”

Dean got up. “I knew there was something wrong with that guy. Hey!” He snapped his fingers. “What about Jayme’s little scanner thingy? The one she used to find those kids in Iowa?”

“What about it?”

“Maybe we can use it to find her.”

Sam went over to Jayme’s bag, opening it. It felt wrong to root around in her stuff but he reminded himself that he was only trying to help. He found the scanning device, pulling it out and realizing he had no idea how it worked.

Dean grabbed it, poking it a few times. “Shouldn’t these things come with a user’s guide? Oh, hey wait, something’s happening.”

Sam looked over Dean’s shoulder. “I don’t suppose you read Katarinian.”

Dean squinted at the symbols. “I know they read from the bottom up, but that’s all.” He toyed with it for a minute, seeing if he could accidentally land on the ‘translate’ button, then laid it aside. “Okay, scratch that. Hey, maybe Frank. That guy who’s her contact!”

“Try him.”

 

 

“How many of you are there?”

Jayme lifted eyelids that felt like manhole covers, fighting the waves of dizzyness that threatened to turn her upside down. Rick was still sitting on the same chair but it seemed so much farther away, and he was swaying back and forth as if he were on a swing. “What?”

“How many of whatever you are are there? You’re not going to last forever and I will be heartbroken if you are the only one of your kind that I ever get to snack on.”

There just wasn’t enough strength for anger or even annoyance. “You got lucky,” she said, fighting for every word. “If you’d come at me from the front you’d have seen a very different side.”

“Oh really? Tough talk.”

“Just a warning. ‘Can you see the real me’ is a very important consideration when it comes to my kind.”

“More Who references, I see,” he said. “You’re really hung up on that dead band, aren’t you?”

“Best years of my life were spent with them.”

“Thought you didn’t meet what’s-his-name until the nineties.”

“I lied.”

“You’re a good liar.”

“I have to be. Just like you. How many times have you acted like a nice guy to get some girl to let her guard down?”

Rick just shrugged. “More times that you can count. I’m good at what I do. I managed to snag you, didn’t I?”

“Like I said, you got lucky.”

“What would you have done, really?” he asked, getting up. “Pulled out pepper spray on me?”

Jayme felt a little of the smugness return; he was no human, but he was still a creature who had no idea who he was fooling with. “I would have ripped your throat out. See, I only look human. I can change my shape into something out of human nightmares. Think Wookiee on steroids.”

Rick raised an eyebrow, then laughed. “That’s a good one. Do it now.”

“I can’t.”

“How convenient.”

“Well, if you want to untie me and let me have a few hours to get my strength back I’ll oblige you,” she said.

“And give you a chance to escape? Darling, I’m not stupid. That’s actually a good story. I’ve heard them all, you know. I’ve been offered money, cars, houses, all sorts of material things if I’ll just let people go. The pathetic little things don’t even realize that it’s not about their crap or their money. Humans taste better than any car. And you taste better than most.” As he spoke he got closer, clearly trying to hold himself back, but his slitted eyes focused on her neck, his fangs springing out as he leaned in, his lips a caress moments before he bit.


	4. Chapter 4

“Dammit!” Dean said, winding up to throw his phone, then thinking better of it.

“He hung up again?” Sam asked.

“This time I didn’t get past the damn switchboard,” Dean replied. The first call he’d barely gotten his name out when Frank hung up. The second he didn’t get past “I’m looking for.” On the third he’d been routed straight to the switchboard.

“Let me try,” Sam said.

“Sam, it’s not gonna do any good.”

“Would you let me try? What could it hurt?”

Dean shrugged and handed the phone over. “Knock yourself out.”

Sam dialed the number. It rang several times, then a gruff voice answered. “Franz? That is what you used to go by, right?” he said.

“Who is this?”

“Listen and please don’t hang up. My name is Sam. I’m a friend of Jayme’s. You’re the one she called a week or so ago to send the police to a remote location in Hibbing, Minnesota. I was there. Now, can I talk to you, please?”

The voice on the other end was silent for nearly a minute. “Only if you don’t call me Franz again. I never liked that name.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Now what can I do for you?”

“Jayme’s missing.”

“Come again?”

“We had an argument last night and she took off, and now we can’t reach her.”

“And you’ve never considered that maybe she just needs some time to cool off?”

“Believe me, we have, but she . . . well, there was a guy she was talking to last night and we think she might have, you know.”

“Are you telling me you’re wasting my time because Jhamera might have decided to choose to spend an evening with a guy without telling you and maybe she doesn’t want to be disturbed?”

“Look, we’re just trying to find out where she is. We want to know if she’s okay.”

“Trust me, Sam. She’s okay. She’s a lot tougher and smarter than you.”

 

 

The Camaro he was driving had once belonged to one of his victims, a very headstrong, sassy brunette who had made it all the way through four feedings before finally dying. He didn’t tend to keep much of the physical trappings of his meals, dumping the cars and pawning jewelry to help keep him in cash, which made moving around possible. But there was something about the car that seemed to suit him, and gave him the added bonus of being able to attract food. He wasn’t all that picky, but he did love the women. They were sweeter, their blood smooth and fine, and sometimes spicy if he happened to get a headstrong one.

But the one he’d snagged last night . . . oh, she was something different. Her blood was thick and rich, like a glass of fine three hundred year-old wine after drinking nothing but Ripple. So instead of finishing her off in a day or two, he was going to break his usual policy of never staying in one place for long and hang around, savoring every last drop.

So in the meantime, he had to find something else to tide him over. 

Laverne was a small town, enclosed in the way that small towns usually were, with everyone knowing everyone and strangers immediately identified and observed for as long as they were around. He’d been around long enough to ease the suspicion, laying on the aw-shucks thing so thick he wanted to puke. In fact, he’d been looking for his first meal the night before.

He drove into town, leaning back with his wrist on the steering wheel, affecting the kind of casual look that masked his keen gaze. There weren’t too many people out at the moment, just a few older people with their shopping bags. He’d have to get very desperate before he snacked on one of them. 

He looped around the square, grid-like streets, passing by the Country Inn. He spotted the guys Jayme had been with getting into a cherry black Impala. The thought that they might be looking for her was definitely a concern, and they didn’t look like typical whatever they were, but at the moment they didn’t exactly look worried, and Jayme would be dead long before they were.

Still, there was something in their look that he recognized, so when the Impala pulled out of the parking lot, he followed, keeping a discreet distance behind a gray Corolla, then a dark blue Explorer after the Corolla turned a corner. They drove in circles for a while, finally pulling into the small parking lot belonging to a restaurant that seemed to do the most business in town. Rick waited until they entered, then parked around the corner. He’d been to the place a couple times, looking for something to eat that wasn’t exactly on the menu, and headed for the back door by the restrooms. He’d be able to see them long before they had a chance to see him.

Luckily they were sitting in a booth behind a tall partition and neither of them saw him enter. He went to one of the small formica-topped two-person tables on the other side and sat, pretending to study the menu.

“So, what do you think?”

“I’m thinking bacon.”

“Dean.”

“What did Frank say?”

He heard a sigh. “That he couldn’t find Jayme’s cell signal, which means her phone is either off or destroyed. And her other devices, since they’re in our motel room, are useless to find her. He can trace her life signs and narrow it down to her since there aren’t many of her people here in North America, but he said it’ll take a few hours until he can have access without the risk of discovery.”

“And this Rick dude?”

“There are four Richards and two Ricks in this town. None of them under forty. So our guy is not a resident. For all we know he’s already left town either with her or without her.”

“I knew he was a dick.”

Rick just smiled. He wasn’t averse to snacking on guys, especially ones who hated him or felt threatened by him. That usually added a dash of hot sauce to the taste. The pair of them would feed him for a week, but he wasn’t about to try to take them alone, especially since it seemed they had help in picking up his trail. He moved out of his chair and slipped back to the back door. Better to take another hit off of Jayme and take her with him—provided she survived.

Time to move on.

 

 

“Dean.”

“I know. Saw him come in.” Dean rose up from his chair just enough to see over the partition. “You take the front door, I’ll take the back.”

Sam nodded, easing himself out of the booth. He backtracked to the front door, handing a few bills to the waitress on his way out, his eyes never leaving Dean as he slipped out the back door. He ran around the back of the building, his hand sliding to the knife on his hip.

Dean was held up against the wall by his neck, his legs kicking in the foot or so of space between them and the ground, Rick holding him there with what seemed like minimal effort.

“Dean!” he shouted, hoping to startle Rick enough to get him to drop Dean. Rick turned his head, giving Sam a glimpse of slitted yellow eyes and sharp, needle-like fangs.

Dean took advantage of the distraction and kicked out, driving his knee into Rick’s stomach, knocking him back. He dropped to the ground, staggering and nearly falling over. “Sam, watch out!”

Sam backed up, taking a wary stance as Rick closed in; he was at least five inches taller but Rick had a broader chest and shoulders, and it was clear from the way he moved that he was no stranger to fighting. “Where’s Jayme?” he asked.

Rick just smiled. “What makes you think I know anything about her?”

“We both know you have her,” Sam growled. “I saw your eyes. You’re not human.”

“No, and neither is she. But she is one thing— _tasty_. No, not tasty. _Delicious_.”

Sam tensed, a combination of anger and fear shooting through him, along with the sudden urge to knock the fangs right out of Rick’s head with his fists. He never got the chance, taking a step back as Dean launched himself forward, tackling him around the waist. Rick twisted around, wrapping an arm around Dean’s neck and turning the clumsy attack into an offense, yanking Dean down to the pavement, his shoulder slamming into the ground.

Sam waited until Rick had drawn back just enough, then kicked, hitting him in the chin hard enough that his jaw should have been broken. Instead Rick rolled backward, then spun around, whipping his legs out and slamming them into Sam’s knees. Sam fell backward onto Dean, pain exploding behind his eyes as his back hit something hard.

“See you around, boys,” Rick said, running to his car. Before Sam could get himself upright, he was gone.

“Sam, get off me! You weigh a friggin’ ton!”

“That better have been your gun I landed on,” Sam groaned as he rolled off of Dean. “We gotta find him before he kills her. We gotta find out what he is.”

“Way ahead of you, Sam. I know what he is.” Dean got up, his eyes pinched with pain as he cradled his arm.

“What? You know?”

Dean nodded. “Not here. Let’s get somewhere private. Get your phone out, call Frank, tell him if he hasn’t figured out where Jayme is right friggin’ _now_ I will be going right back to Chicago to personally kick his neromancer ass.”

Sam took out his phone, wincing as he got in next to Dean. He dialed the number, waiting while it rang. “Frank? It’s me. Listen—Jayme’s in danger. Please tell me you found her.”

“Or I’m gonna kick your ass!” Dean shouted.

“You two really care about her,” Frank said. “Don’t you?”

Dean reached out, grabbing the phone. “Where the fuck is she, Frank?” he snapped.

“Keep going on the road you’re on. At the edge of town, head west on 149. Two miles, look for a house on your left.” The gruffness faded slightly. “Her life signs are weakening. Hurry.”

“We’ll get her back,” Dean said, handing the phone back to Sam. “He’s a vetala, Sam. Normally they hunt in pairs, but Dad took down a loner once. I took down a pair while you were playing lawyer wannabe.”

“And you were going to tell me this when?”

“Hey, I didn’t know until he was about to chomp on my neck, okay?” 

“Okay. So how do we take him out?”

“Silver knife to the heart. Stab, then twist. And if he fights back, you stab the bastard again.”

Sam sat back a little. He’d been wrong about Dean not caring. This was a side of Dean few people ever saw, a side that until now had only come out where Dad and Sam himself were concerned. It was all about Dean focusing his attention and energy everywhere but, but making it clearer than words where his true feelings were. At the moment he was focused on Jayme and Sam decided that it was better that way, so he bit his tongue. “You have any silver knives?”

“Got two in the trunk,” Dean said.

“You have a plan?”

“Yes I do. We kick the door in and take him out.”

“What if he’s not alone?”

Dean glanced at him. “That’s what I have you for, Sam. If he’s fed on Jayme more than once she’s probably in no condition to help us.”

“I just wanna know how he managed to overpower her.”

Dean tightened his grip on the wheel as he steered the car out of town. “When we get her back we’ll ask her.”

 

 

This time the pain was sharp, enough that she managed a cry. The draining sensation was mixed with a frightful tingling that stabbed at her limbs like hundreds of needles. The ringing grew even louder; she felt rather than heard his fangs disengage.

“Normally my bite knocks people out for hours. You manage to stay awake.” He stroked her cheek. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to run, so I’ll have to have my last meal with you on the road.”

“Just kill me now, please,” she whispered.

“No, no, not yet,” he purred. “I’m going to take you out of here, and in gratitude for the amazing nourishment you’ve given me, I’m going to take the last of you out in the open air. I’ll leave you somewhere nice, I promise. Maybe . . . a last kiss under the stars.” He ran his fingers over her neck. “And then . . . I go out to find others like you. I overheard your friends talking, and apparently there are more of you out there.”

“Hope you like fur and fangs.”

“Hmm?”

Focusing on him was hard. It was like being wrapped in cotton and shoved into a room where Voodoo Child was playing too loud. Too hard to focus, too many strands pulling in every direction, motions coming half a second too late, too many bad drugs and bad parties but she’d gone through some truly gnarly parties that were beyond mere mortals. So here it is, Jhamera, here’s your life about to go out with some guy who looks like John when you squint so fuck it you’re not some weak little kid you knew it had to come down the line sometime didn’t you getting wasted and dying young is a human thing but you’re not human but you ran from your people and hid from them with the humans who make the screeching sounds you like so much and drink and drugs and party all the time and it all blends together so you can slide right in and escape that way but hiding like that didn’t last forever did it no it sure didn’t and now you’re here about to die in a basement and for what nothing ha ha that’s the rock and roll life isn’t it really—

“I’m a neromancer. We only look like this on your planet to blend in and so we don’t scare humans half to death. If you plan on trying to kill any more of my kind, you’d better get your affairs in order, because you won’t get this lucky twice. The next neromancer you meet will probably rip your face off before she breaks your spine.”

His hand cupped her cheek with an almost tender caress. “Of course, dear.”

 

 

Dean pulled the car over into the dust and weeds across from the house. Mid morning, bright sun overhead, no cover, no problem. This didn’t require subtlety. He got out, moving to the trunk without looking over his shoulder. There was no one around to see their arsenal as he lifted the hidden lid, pulling out a long silver knife, then handing a second to Sam. “You see him, you stab him,” Dean said, slamming the trunk lid down and heading for the house as soon as it was shut.

“Dean, wait! Don’t we want to scope the place out first or something?”

“Sam, I am walking in there and taking that fucker out. We are out of time.”

It was almost like a Western, if Dean had been in the mood to indulge himself, which he wasn’t. He kept the blade tucked up against his arm just in case some corn-pone cowboy sheriff decided to drive by at just that moment and harass him for walking across the street with the intent to kick down the door of the rotted little house on the corner and rip the guts out of a monster that was sucking the life out of his—

He moved for the door, turning his body to the side and checking on Sam, who was flanking him. The sunlight was swallowed by a funnel of black as they went in, heading for the basement, where they could hear voices, two of them, male and female, the latter far weaker than the former.

Dean reached back, grabbing Sam’s hand. “I take lead, you fall back,” he whispered.

“Dean—”

It was a little sound. A small whimper of pain laced with fear was all it took; Dean lunged, finding Rick’s shoulders and plowing into them with all the force he could bring to bear. It was enough to knock the damn vetala down and give him full view of Jayme’s savaged flesh and the shredded rope around her neck for a second before Rick came back swinging, hitting him with something wooden that shattered over his arms, protected by his dad’s leather coat. Adrenaline and something else combined and he stabbed out with the knife, missing the heart but slicing the good ol’ boy’s belly open. That made him mad, mad enough to punch Dean in the head hard, sending him down, but he wasn’t alone—nope, Sam was there, his long arm swinging out, blade at the end. He missed Rick’s heart too, but the knife did sink into his shoulder deep enough for Dean to get up, reversing his grip and slamming it into Rick’s chest with a good meaty thud, a final thud, the one that meant the end of the job.

Rick didn’t want to go quietly, wrenching Sam around and into the pole Jayme was tied to, but Sam let go and twisted away harmlessly, leaving Dean to deliver the final twist, the one that sent Rick to wherever monsters went, his body flaking and crusting as it collapsed.

One breath, then two, then three. Then turn away.

Time to focus on what was important.


	5. Chapter 5

He went to her, taking the moments before he reached her to decide what to do so when he actually got there he was able to cut the rope from around her neck with one move, sliding a hand around to hold up her head. “Jaymes? Hey, you with us?”

“Yeah, I’m here—hey, no worse than twelve bad acid trips at once, right?”

Sam moved behind her, cutting the ropes that bound her wrists. “Dean, be careful of her neck.”

“Damn, she’s bleeding fast here. Sam, I need something for a bandage, something—”

“Her tools.”

Dean shook his head, yanking his arms out of his coat. “They’re at the motel—stupid, we should have grabbed them. We gotta put something on this now.” He pulled off his long sleeved shirt, then stripped off his t-shirt, folding it up and placing it over the wound. “Sam, go get the car and pull it around, okay?”

“Right,” Sam said, shaking himself back into the moment. He dug the keys out of Dean’s jacket and headed up the stairs.

“Guess I really messed everything up,” Jayme said, her voice hitching hard with each breath.

“Don’t,” Dean said, hushing her. “Just . . . don’t. A rotting basement with a dead monster next to you is no place for a conversation. We’re gonna take care of you, okay?”

“You came for me,” she said. “I didn’t think . . . you cared.”

“I said don’t, okay? I mean it. Don’t.” He met her grieving eyes. “Look, Sam’s got this crazy idea that you like me, and when he first said it I thought he was nuts. Is he?”

She dropped her gaze. “Not that I can tell, no.”

“Good. Hate to think my brother’s that unobservant.” He moved his hand, keeping even pressure on her neck. She was so limp in his arms, her hand weakly gripping his knee. “How the hell did he do this to you?”

“Thought you wanted me to be quiet.”

“I changed my mind.”

“He took me by surprise. Bit me before I knew what was going on. Didn’t have the strength to change after that, and once the rope was around my neck . . . ”

“You were toast,” he said. It worried him a little that she didn’t give him so much as a glare. “Listen, it’s okay. We got here in time and you’re gonna be fine.”

“It was almost too late,” she said, her voice hitching. “I almost died.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t. That’s all that matters.” He looked up as Sam returned. “Let’s get her back to the motel. We’ll patch her up enough for us to blow town.”

“Shouldn’t she go to the hospital?”

Dean gave him a look. “That’s not funny.”

“Oh,” Sam said. “Right.” He crouched down next to Dean. “Let me. You should put some clothes on.”

Dean pulled his hand away, putting his other shirt and coat back on. “Wish I could kill that bastard again.”

“Don’t worry,” Jayme said. “He’s in a far far worse place now.”

“Can you walk?” Sam asked, not waiting for her to answer when it became clear she couldn’t. Keeping pressure on her neck, he moved around until he could slide his other hand under her knees, then lifted her up. Dean pulled the keys from Sam’s pocket and collected the knives, heading up the stairs ahead of Sam. “Dean, I pulled the car right up to the door.”

“Good thinking,” Dean said, not really paying attention as he opened the back door, holding it while Sam set Jayme inside, then got in with her. “You got her?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, watching Dean circle the car to the driver’s side. His shirt was buttoned crooked. It was an odd thing to focus on, especially since Dean hardly ever buttoned his shirt, but it showed how much he was distracted, which was unusual after a hunt—but then this hadn’t been a typical hunt.

When they reached the motel Dean got out, going in to fetch their things. Not that anyone was likely to be sending out search parties for Rick, but at the moment it was smarter to get out of town as fast as possible where no one had a chance of recognizing them. Sam dug out the first aid kit, removing the bloody shirt from her neck. With no way of knowing how or if the vetala’s venom was affecting her, they couldn’t close her wounds just then. He took out gauze and a bandage, placing the sterile pad over the tears on her neck.

“Dean,” he said once his brother had returned, silently loading up the trunk and getting behind the wheel without looking in the back seat. “Do vetalas normally make this much of a mess with their victims?”

Dean was silent, his hands gripping the wheel. Finally he spoke. “No. They’re usually more precise. Sometimes they even manage to bite the same place each time. Either Jayme moved or jerked when he bit her, or . . . ”

“Or?” Sam glanced at Jayme, who was awake, her exhausted gaze resting on the back of Dean’s head.

Dean swallowed, his fists gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles cracked. “Or he did it on purpose just to hurt her even more.” He started the engine, waiting until the car was the open road to gun it for all she was worth.

No one said anything until they were over the border into Texas, and then only what was required to find their way to Perryton and the nearest place to stay. Sam sat with Jayme leaned against him after she’d fallen asleep.

“How’s she, Sam?” Dean asked.

“Pulse is okay,” Sam replied. He’d been lightly gripping her wrist the whole time, keeping count as the miles crept by. “It’s holding at eighty-five.”

“Soon as we stop we’ll get her healed.”

“She’s gonna be okay, Dean.”

“Of course she is. Don’t be stupid.”

They finally drew into Perryton near midnight, Dean skipping the usual trolling for a motel in favor of something higher-end. He settled on a hotel that was somewhere between a Holiday Inn and a Sheraton, figuring that Jayme would have no objections. Despite his ragged appearance he drew no looks or comments from the desk staff, who likely assumed anything from weary traveler to man at the end of a pub crawl. He asked for a room near one of the far exits, since none of the rooms had exterior doors. Key cards in hand, he went back out to the car and drove it around back.

Sam went in first, carrying their bags and making sure the coast was clear. It wouldn’t do to have some travelling businessman or family on vacation to go into the hall and see a bleeding young woman being escorted in by two large men. Dean carried Jayme into the room without incident, setting her down on the closest bed.

“What first?” Sam asked.

Dean dug out Jayme’s medical kit. “Wake her up. She needs to help us figure this gizmo out.”

Sam sat down next to her, rubbing her arm. “Jayme? Hey, wake up.”

Her eyes slid open—slowly, as if dreading what she might find. When she saw the warm cream-colored walls and Sam next to her, she relaxed. “What’s up?”

“We need you to run your little scanner thingy and tell us if it’s okay to close up your neck,” Dean said, handing it to her.

She held it for a moment, blinking a few times to clear her vision. Turning it on, she moved through a few screens, staring at it for several minutes. “Yeah, it’s okay. My body’s fighting whatever venom he had. Doesn’t pose a threat.”

“How can you tell that?” Sam asked.

“Here,” she said, touching a few commands. The symbols that were meaningless to Sam and Dean changed to English and recognizable numerals, but it was still a screen full of numbers. She moved her thumb, a menu sliding over, and selected a setting. Instead of numbers, it displayed a small readout that Sam was able to scan in a moment.

Dean looked over Jayme’s shoulder. “Venom type unknown, threat level point five percent. That’s good, right?”

“Yeah. Means this stuff isn’t going to hurt me.”

Sam pointed to another section. “You’re anemic, though.”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “He did suck quite a bit out of me.” Sam nodded, taking out her tools while Dean cleaned her neck. Jayme watched his face, the way his eyes narrowed in more than concentration, but said nothing while Sam closed the ugly tears in her flesh.

“You’ll shower when you’re strong enough to stand,” Dean said, fetching a washcloth from the bathroom and cleaning the blood from her hair, wiping her face and neck. The ugly tears and bite marks were by then little more than a tracing of red. By the time he was done she was sliding back into a doze, easily yielding to his hands as he laid her down.

“Sam, I noticed a little twenty-four hour market or something back down the road,” Dean said. “We got a fridge; can you get some food and stuff for us? Figure we’re gonna be here for a day or two.”

Sam just nodded. “Yeah, sure. What should I get?”

“What do I look like, a nutritionist?” Dean snapped. He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment. “I don’t know, probably some milk, protein, stuff that won’t be hard on her stomach. No Slim Jims or jerky. No, wait—might as well get some for me. And pie if they have it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You and pie. Okay, so anything else?”

“No, that should be good.”

Dean waited until Sam was gone. He went into the bathroom, washing his hands and face and waiting until he could breathe without clenching his fists.

Close. They’d come so close to losing her, and all because he’d opened his mouth and let stupid come out. The fact that he’d been right about Rick didn’t count for squat; she never would have left if he hadn’t told her that she was different, reminded her of something she already knew damn well. He tried to tell himself that she wasn’t his responsibility, that he was supposed to look after Sam and that was all, that she was on her own, and as he flipped off the light he almost believed it.

She was curled up on her side, her long hair tangled and splayed on the pillow and bedspread, looking so pale and small and weak that it was hard to picture her lively like she’d been just the other night. He went over to her bag and dug out a shirt, moving to get her up just enough to change out of the ragged remnants of the one she was wearing. He touched her arm, starting as she released a hoarse cry, one hand flying to her neck. Her palm tightened on the closed wound, her forehead creasing as she started to sob.

“Hey, hey,” he said, moving around and lifting her up. He held her tight, expecting her to fight him, but she just laid there, her hand moving from her neck to his arm, gripping it tight. “You’re okay, Jayme. I’m here.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I could have gotten myself killed—could have gotten you killed.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t. That thing didn’t stand a chance against Sam and me. You’re here and you’re safe. That’s all that matters.” He rocked her gently, letting her get it all out. He’d done the same thing for Sam more than once, when they were little and Dean was the only thing between Sam and fear. He didn’t exactly take pride in it, but it was one of the things that made him feel something deeper than normal pleasure.

“Nice to know the big bad neromancer is afraid of something after all,” he said, hoping his flippant tone would help snap her out of it. She was clinging to his arm as if it were the only thing keeping her from drowning. He slid his other hand down and rubbed her back. “Listen, Jayme. Sooner or later you come up against something that kicks your ass. No one’s perfect. I know you’re strong and old and everything, but you’re still new at this. I’m just glad we got you back safe, and I’m not interested in playing who’s-to-blame, okay?” He paused, then leaned down, whispering in her ear even though he knew it was unnecessary. “So no nightmares, got it?”

“I hardly think I’m in charge of that,” she said.

“Yeah, but now you got two things you didn’t have before.”

“What’s that?”

“Me, and Sam.”

He expected the words to make her feel better; instead she cried harder. Dean thought about all the times when he was younger that he’d wanted to cry but couldn’t—he had to be strong for Sam, couldn’t show Dad any weakness, he had to prove to him that he was tough, that he could be relied on to handle things without falling apart. He’d heard once that crying was supposed to make you feel better but that was a crock as far as he was concerned. It left him feeling miserable and vulnerable; the latter was far harder to deal with.

Jayme was tough as hell, Jayme was fierce, but underneath that was a scared kid. And right now it didn’t matter; that was the past, and he was here now, and no one was going to hurt her again.

He got her up enough to help her change her shirt. Sam returned just as he finished, bearing two large bags. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, fine. You remember the pie?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “They didn’t have any.” He set the bags down on the desk and pulled out a bottle. “Jayme, here—it’s vanilla and I know you’re not crazy about it but it’ll help you. It’s got protein and iron in it.”

Dean helped Jayme sit up. “Here, c’mon.” He took the bottle from Sam, handing it to her, then holding it for her when it was clear her hands were shaking too much.

Sam just watched. It was hard to see Jayme like this, knowing who and what she was, what she could do. It meant she wasn’t perfect, and her power had limits—something he’d always known, but it was different seeing it first hand. It just went to show that nothing was guaranteed.

“Hey, you’re dribbling,” Dean said, handing the bottle back to Sam and wiping Jayme’s chin. “That any way for a neromancer to be?”

“Ha ha,” she said, leaning into his touch nevertheless.

“Jayme?” Sam said. “Can you teach us how to use your scanning things there? We might have been able to find you quicker, only neither of us can read your language.”

“Only if you do me a favor in return.”

“What?”

She looked up at Sam; her eyes were still tear-streaked, but they were determined. “Teach me. Teach me everything about what’s out there.”


End file.
